


Penultimate Planet

by LovettOrNot



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Amnesia, M/M, Mecha, Slow Burn, Temporary Amnesia, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 01:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17519867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovettOrNot/pseuds/LovettOrNot
Summary: Kim Taehyung is a miserable engineer who repairs 50ft humanoid death machines for a living. His thoughts of slowly whiling away a painful existence are shattered when his base receives an unidentified mech- along with a heavily injured pilot.When bizarre robots descend soon after and begin killing all in their path, Taehyung has no choice but to trust a man who can barely remember his own name- Park Jimin. Thrust into a war he never asked for, Taehyung’s only lifeline is the enigmatic amnesiac, but can he really trust Jimin?BTS and mecha, the AU nobody- everybody wanted!





	Penultimate Planet

Taehyung’s labored breaths came slowly, ribs strangled by god-knows how many coils of creaking rope. Far below him the station worked as it always had, people rushing to make their latest quota to avoid being strung up thirty feet in the air. He and Yoongi used to laugh when the fresher of the month freaked out, flailed like a confused spider. They stopped laughing when the rumbles in their bellies meant they each felt the bite of the rope.

In front of him stood the latest victim of endurance testing, GWI-190-914. The Doctor insisted she loved every single one of her creations. The gash in the GWI’s side sparked as other divers gutted its wires like big bloodless intestines. Some love that was.

His feet hit the GWI’s bright blue plating with a dull clunk. He had the entire left arm all to himself. A loud crash of metal followed by a storm of swears rose up from beneath him. Inexperienced, the lot of them, slow of hand and of mind. Groups were only made to cover weaknesses. He and Yoongi never needed them.

With his visor flipped down and his gloves crackling to life, work began. He waved his left hand. Shrapnel and torn-up bits of bullet followed, right into his grasp. He leaned forward and took care with his right. Brilliant arcs of electricity danced from his fingertips as he brushed them over ragged holes. Metal became blackened but whole again. Soon ozone was the only thing he could smell, sharp like bleach.

Halfway through the job and ages ahead of the rest, he took a cautious seat on the most vertical part of the arm he could find. Perched on the edge of the giant fist, he had ample time to observe. Core was the best team by far, already having detached the chest chassis to work at the fragile circuitry beneath. In sharp contrast, the batch of freshers on the right leg made him laugh. Someone must’ve told them the story of the cursed legs. They definitely treated the parts like they were haunted.

Divers held few superstitions. For the most part they were rubbish for the older ones to spew at gullible freshers. There was only one that held its truth. It always started as a little squeak, light enough to be a figment of the imagination. Next there was a groaning, like the stirring of a big beast. Then came the Cry, shrill, merciless and ungodly, an omen of fast-approaching death. People escaped during the groan. The Cry silenced whoever was left.

By the time the squeaking started he’d almost finished his pull. Smothered by the constant hum of electricity, he didn’t hear it at all. He was busy fiddling with his visor, turning on the scan to make sure there wasn’t anything else to collect. “Three masses detected,” the visor chirped. Right on the tip of the ring finger. He had already swung for his prize when the groaning began.

For the first time in a long while, his heart seized. The groan shot terror straight into his heart, but his mind spoke differently. There was no chance of filling the quota after this. No hesitation after that. He didn’t bother slowing down that time, nearly unfurling the mech’s finger by landing on it full speed. Left hand, shards of metal darted past his face. Right hand, welded the first hole.

The entire mech shifted underneath him and he let out a strangled shout. Not now. He needed every bit of cash he could pull from this stupid mech. What had been completely horizontal footing slowly turned more and more vertical. The groaning only got louder until it felt like someone was stabbing his eardrum. Second hole welded. On the brink of slipping off the hand entirely, he leaped up and hung on, desperately welding the third hole shut. He tossed himself off of the finger just as the Cry began.

The Cry roared in a higher pitch than any he had heard before, as if angry at his sudden departure. He cheated the call. He cheated death. But he still had to face punishment. He hurtled toward the uncaring wall. His head snapped back and his bones moved in ways they shouldn’t have, but through the sting his hands found purchase. His fingers dug deep into the gap until he felt himself rising. They were retrieving the ropes, thank the stars.

All it took was one look down. Past the people lucky enough to be rising with him. The GWI laid half on its side and half on its front, contorted unnaturally next to its severed and sparking right leg. A pool of red spread from the GWI’s center until the metal floor disappeared underneath the glistening liquid. Saliva turned to venom in his mouth. Fools, the lot of them, slow of hand and of mind.

Faces stared at him from the edge of the hole, filled with concern and worry- but not for him. Practically ripping the rope off, he regarded them with cold fury. Most stiffened and refused to meet his dark gaze. Some looked past him hopefully, for their loved ones. A handful watched him with marked disgust. None of them were Yoongi, so he pushed past them without a care.

As soon as he was out of that suffocating mass of people, he ran. Ramshackle huts and clueless, muddied children flew by him in his stride. Among the crumbling brick and rotting wood sat just one building, tall and proud in its modern elegance. Only the electrified fence and armed guards posted at the entrance gave away the Doctor’s rightful fear of scavengers.

Waved through by a simple show of ID, he went straight for the heavy wooden doors. Lumber nearly slammed into his outstretched hand as the doors were tossed open. The Doctor barely saw him before she went right back to yelling at a maintenance guy. “They can take any compensation claim and shove it. It’s written into their contracts that I’m not liable for anything!”

With a meek nod the poor messenger departed, leaving an amused Taehyung with the calming lady. A smile tugged at his lips as he played with the thought of saying ‘Don’t shoot the messenger’. Solid pink nails tapped over an expensive-looking satchel. He decided not to.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” The Doctor put on a blindingly white smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Come in.”

He wasted as little time as possible once inside. He smelled bleach all day. The scent of a million artificial rose oils was an entirely different story. Yoongi liked to describe her office as an Earthling Barbie’s. Whatever a Barbie was. What horrid creature survived entirely in an environment of neon pink? Simply being there hurt him. He dropped his pull, a perfectly spherical ball of scrap metal, into a chute built into her desk.

“Approximate pull: 57,” a disembodied voice chirped. Monotone clapping and disinterested party horns on loop filled the room. “Your household has filled its quota!” Just as abruptly as it started, it stopped. A tap on his shoulder made him whirl around, but it was the silver glint of mun that caught his attention. He snatched the coins from the Doctor’s claws and stuffed them hurriedly into his pocket.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped. The pity drained out of her face, replaced by a more neutral understanding. He couldn’t stand Earthlings who thought they knew better. They sat in the lap of luxury with sprawling cities and massive jungles and this great collection of water called the ‘ocean’. They knew not the hardship of moonchildren, and of divers in particular.

His anger faded the first few steps out of her office. The stench of alien flowers that clung to him did not. Children sniffed about his legs when they caught whiff. He kept his hand- and his coins- in an iron grip, well above the little ones’ heads. It wasn’t that he distrusted them. There were simply darker and older figures behind curtains, capable of imprinting the worst on the innocent.

He shooed them away. There would be no tales of their forbearers or gaily sung songs today. Only wailing accompanied the somber shuffle of those affected by the accident. The market district was infamous for the racket of merchants screaming for customers to buy their wares. The din had mostly died when he arrived. Now only one person dared to break the deathly quiet.

There were many ways to describe what had happened to that man. ‘Swam in the maria’. ‘Met with the moon rabbit’. Divers preferred the term ‘lunatic’. “It is coming down upon us!” the man yelled at a merchant cowering behind a chewed-up rag. Hysteria practically oozed from his twitching, bloodshot eyes as they landed on the only visitor bold enough to stand. “Six were taken already and they have signaled its descent. Flee and abandon everything or suffer a putrid death. Or…”

Taehyung simply waited as the madman sprinted toward him. Pain shot up his knuckles and kicked back into his arm, but his fist landed squarely on the lunatic’s jaw. The nuisance landed on the floor in a crumpled heap, twitching like a dying fly. The merchants nearby let out a collective sigh. No doubt they’d thank him by shoving their shoddy wares into his face at ‘only’ half price. The only discount he was interested in came from one booth alone.

To her credit the buxom shopkeeper was the least shaken, turning back to her stoves and lighting them anew. By the time he tapped his fingers on the rickety counter, she dropped freshly fried yaki mandu onto a plate nearby. Her flour caked hands rubbed on her apron, barely making a difference. “What can I do you for? Naengmyeon? Jjinmandu? _Yaki mandu?_ ”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself-” The traitorous core he called a stomach called his bluff immediately with a loud growl. “Six, please.”

Home, no matter how run down, was home. Its soft yellow light and slightly musty smell enveloped him from the second he stepped inside. It was one of two reminders that the Moon wasn’t just a hellhole he was unfortunate enough to be born in. The other stared at him from the doorway, devoid of a shirt and rubbing sleepy eyes.

Yoongi still had the marks from the last dive, mottled red and purple trails over milky white skin. The tighter funds became, the darker those ugly marks got. Yoongi was always the older one, the tougher one, the one who frowned so that the younger could smile. The first time Yoongi collapsed, Taehyung had to stop smiling and grow up.

“I should’ve bought ice,” He said, pushing the plastic container into Yoongi’s hands.

“Waste of money,” Yoongi popped open the lid before adding, “Unless you wanted to use it on yourself.”

Taehyung sputtered when greasy pastry jabbed at his lips. He tried to push the food back toward Yoongi. He didn’t get anywhere close and more than half of the dumpling sat squarely in his mouth. Oh well, he knew when to surrender. Crackling filled his ears as he bit down, but it was the taste that overshadowed every other sense.

Vegetables and meat. Not the half-dying sprouts smuggled in cheaply or the faux meat stuffed into every undercooked pie he’s had the displeasure of eating. Real produce, sourced from the agricultural sector miles away. Yoongi’s gummy smile greeted him when his sight returned.

“You were supposed to eat these,” He whined.

“Four for me and four for you. Simple. Now shower so we can eat a little more comfortably.”

Pouting childishly, he finished off his dumpling before stepping into the adjacent, tube-like room. A press of a button spritzed the bare minimum of liquid soap from the walls. A different button poured water from the ceiling in measured sheets. That was the one shower he was allowed for the day.

The mandu disappeared quickly, but it wasn’t as if either of them minded. With their stomachs completely filled for the first time in months, they were too lethargic to complain. Then, eventually, they were too sleepy to keep awake. They went into the darkness more than willingly.

Red light. Obnoxious flashes of harsh red cutting through the darkness woke Taehyung from his peaceful slumber. The screen installed in their home, used strictly for official announcements from either the government or the Doctor, blinked ominously. He scurried out of bed and tapped on it.

The words ‘LIVE FEED’ crawled briefly across the screen before he was treated to the sight of distant stars. He waited for a solid minute or two with nothing in sight except a star that seemed somewhat bigger than the others. He grumbled underneath his breath. Why were they showing this on the emergency broadcast? Probably an error. He just had to turn it off.

Only a second away from switching off the feed, the camera suddenly zoomed in. The growing star he had seen was heading toward the colony in a fiery trail. He watched with bated breath as the star came closer and closer. Why hadn’t they shot it down yet?

He needed only to wait for his question to be answered. The flaming object wasn’t a star at all. Details popped into sight as it came closer. It had wings. A bird-like head. Three legs. His mind swam at the thought of an alien creature making contact with the Moon. Somehow through the confusion he still watched, still noted a vital detail. It had rivets.

He ran for the garage.


End file.
